


The Seduction Of Doctor Castiel Novak

by Violetlyvanilla



Category: Supernatural
Genre: A/B/O, Alpha Castiel, Arranged Marriage, Beta Dean, Bisexual Dean, Dark fic, Demisexual Castiel, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Gender Discrimination, M/M, Omegaverse, Pining, Prison AU, Psychiatrist Castiel, Soulmates, Think Hannibal dark ok, True Mates, dystopian au, first person POV, hospital au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-17
Updated: 2019-04-17
Packaged: 2020-01-15 10:52:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,384
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18497446
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Violetlyvanilla/pseuds/Violetlyvanilla
Summary: In a dystopian world where betas are outlawed, Castiel is tasked to rehabilitate rebel leader Dean Winchester. Being a beta, Dean is unable to scent an alpha, not even if it is his true mate. Playing Dean’s psychiatrist and jailkeeper places Castiel in turmoil, when the alpha suddenly experiences urges he is unfamiliar with. Attempting to seduce Dean through his senses, Castiel quickly finds the tables turned.





	The Seduction Of Doctor Castiel Novak

**Author's Note:**

> Warning: references to gender selection 
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> Tumblr: violetlyvanilla, destielfanficseason16, destielwritersroom  
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"I am not the bad guy here." 

That's the first thing I ever say to Dean Winchester, to which he smirks softly, gaze averted from the camera feed. 

I am not lying, I seldom lie. This is a statement of genuine belief. I have never encountered anything like Dean. His brother Sam is an abomination, that much goes without saying. An alpha without a scent, the very idea appals. Dean is even stranger though, cursed with the beta designation, he has no sexual olfactory receptors at all. Even the most hopeless beta can detect a mating scent. Not Dean. According to our brain scans, he could smell cooking, or nature or stench, but even the most powerful alpha and omega scents are nonsensical to him. Dean's nose is truly impotent. He will never know a mating scent, not even from his true mate. I can see why Michael outlawed betas in the entire United States and send those rare cases that are detected to prison - they are helpless creatures, hopelessly dull witted he tells us. We lock them up for their own good. Not all betas are destined to live lives of unfilled potential. I have personally been responsible for the rehabilitation and re-designation of a number of them. My colleague, the esteemed surgeon, Dr. Naomi Dante can implant alpha and omega scent generators and receptors into willing betas, converting them into useful members of society capable of mating. My work, if I dare say so on my own behalf, is far more delicate. I am a criminal psychiatrist, I delve into the minds of so-called betas and find out who they truly are meant to be. I help them reconnect with nature's intentions and guide them on the path of light. Anyone can stick some tech into nostrils and sweat glands, but to convince the beta they were always meant to be an alpha or omega was an art far more subtle. 

Dean looks like an omega to me. I've been observing him for the last seven days, having been awoken in the middle of the night when Dean was captured in Lawrence Texas. What the hell the leader of the beta resistance was doing in the  midwest certainly interested Michael, since any rebel activities were usually trifling matters dealt with on the coastal borders. Dean was immediately passed on into my care. I rolled out the red carpet for him, emptying an entire wing, having him in the solitary suite. I gave him the usual induction, a full week of sensory detoxing in a sealed white room. 12 hours of darkness followed by 12 hours of light, day after day. Meals of tasteless protein and plain water. Filtered air. No human contact. He sat staring at the blank walls while I stared back at him through the security camera. 

The words I say to him are the first sounds he has heard in a while. He reacts with a stiffening back, ear tilting towards the speakers mounted beside the security camera. I make sure my voice is soft and sweet, though naturally it is inclined to be raspy. 

"My name is Dr. Castiel Novak, I am a psychiatrist, this is a criminal detention facility for deviants. We take murders, robbers, thieves, the violent and the unwanted. We are also the only facility equipped to deal with Michael's special cases. People who refuse designation, so called betas, like you."

"Blah blah, I've heard of you, Michael's interrogator. You wanna dip into my head and mess it up?" 

"I want to help you." I don't have a script that I work off of. I tend to just say the right things at the right time. I can read into people pretty well. Being an alpha helps, I can scent out emotions so accurately that I almost see them as hazes of colour clinging to faces and bodies. Of course, via a visual audio feed I can't smell Dean. I have no ideas if he even has a scent, perhaps he was born as defective as his brother. I cannot help but want to find out sooner rather than later. 

"You wanna help me you'll gimme back my brother," Dean says quickly. 

"Sam Winchester is no longer in my care, he was moved to Michael's private facilities last month." 

Dean puts his head in his hands and stops talking altogether. I start typing out an email to Michael, at least we have a motive for why Dean is here. 

"I'm going to try something Dean, do not be alarmed." I press a button and Dean's head lifts as the smell pours into his cell. 

"Giving me a headache," he says, covering his nose with his sleeve. 

"Just a drop of rose essence," I say. "Harvested from my own garden. Very pure and gentle. Do you like it?" 

"I'd like to see the guy I'm talking to. Your voice sounds like pure sex, I bet your face is ugly though. Anyone who works for Michael has got to have twisted demonic faces, you're all devils the lot of you." 

"I'm not so easily cajoled, Dean. Here, a small treat." 

The feeder slot opened at a press of the button, the small piece of watermelon, a sliver so thin it was translucent on the plastic plate sat waiting. Dean inhales sharply, I can hear his stomach rumble in anticipation. 

He doesn't hesitate to grab the fruit and devour it, licking up the juices from his chin and fingers. 

"What's that supposed to prove?" He says after he's done. 

"Did it taste good?" 

"Yeah, of course, haven't had any real food for ages." 

"Imagine you've never eaten food your whole life. That's what its like not having scented an alpha in your entire existence." 

"I don't gotta smell an alpha to have fun with him, or her," Dean says with a cocky grin. "Pretty good with omegas too. Don't need to scent someone to sex them, doc. Isn't that Michael's entire schtick, betas can't mate with omegas or alphas. So he says, so he tells people in his propaganda, truth is you can have sex with whoever. A beta can mate as well as an alpha and females can conceive just as easily as an omega. Problem is we pass on our beta traits sometimes and Michael, sick bastard, wants to wipe us from existence." 

"You are incapable of pregnancy," I remind Dean, not unkindly. 

"Only because I'm male," Dean smiles and now he's looking straight into the camera, the black and white flattening out his face into a two dimensional mask. All big eyes and chiselled jawline, pointed incisors when he lifts his upper lip in defiance. It is a fox-like expression and I find it most alluring, strangely. "But it'll still be fun to pump it into me." 

His last words do something unexpected to me. I find myself aroused, against all odds. I look down into my lap and stare at the strangely cumbersome lump sitting between my legs. I do not recall last experiencing sexual arousal outside of a rut. 

I terminate the interview without further communication. The lights switch off as I end the session abruptly, the cameras automatically switching over to night vision, reading the heat signatures in the room. I can just make out the faintly glowing figure of Dean moving to stand in front of the camera, his arms crossed over the warmer gold of his chest and torso. The pooling red in his abdomen, the point of beckoning white heat at his groin. I swallow and leave the room. 

* * * 

"So what's this, a romance?" Dean says when I play music for him. "Got anything truly classic?" 

"Swan Lake is the most seminal classical music," I begin to say. 

"No, classic rock, something with a beat and air guitar!" 

"I'm afraid not today," I carefully make a note in my diary to request music that would be more motivating to Dean. 

"I'd rather just hear your voice, doc, that got me going last time," Dean says flirtatiously. 

I've noticed how he switches it on, the sly smiles and fluttering lashes. The vaguely threatening sexual commentary he relies upon to sidetrack my progress. I think it is a defence mechanism, he's resisting me. I regret ending our session too abruptly the first time, I think it gave Dean too much insight into my personal weakness. My own little deviancy, my own lack of sexual appetite, not exactly outlawed but not looked upon kindly in Michael's world view either. Not when he emphasised so much the race to populate the world with pure alpha and omega offspring. My own lack of interest in mating was something to be frowned upon. Fortunately Michael finds me useful enough. And I am not completely damned, I can perform during a rut. Eventually, Michael would wish to breed me, I can forestall him by continuing to do a good job in the prison, converting the betas that come my way. If I should fail to produce more success stories for Michael's press machine one day, then perhaps I would be called upon to personally reproduce. The thought troubles me but I have not failed in my duties so far. Though with Dean I was beginning to feel strangely out of my depth. 

"Kinda lonely in here, not much stimulation. I entertain myself dreaming up what you look like, I've changed my mind, I think you'd look hot just like how you sound. You sound like someone stuffed their cock down your throat and knotted you like a fish on a line for hours." 

There's a fluttering in my chest, like butterflies and carrion wings. 

“Or maybe you’re a screamer,” Dean was really enjoying himself now. “I could make you yell your heart out into a pillow.”

"You sound like you’re over-compensating,” I say calmly, not rising to the bait. “Are you attempting to describe what you assume are my fantasies or projecting your own?” 

“I could make you bite your own arms to muffle your cries of ecstasy ... and come so hard ... like a hard thing,” Dean was giggling now, his laughter melodic as he stifled the sounds coming out of his mouth with his own hand, wiping at the corners of his eyes with his fingertips. “Oh man, yeah, I’m not good at that.” 

I watched Dean’s shoulders shake and the expression lines crinkle the tops of his sharp cheek bones. What a charming smile he had, even in monochrome. The sort of laughter that involved his whole body, broad shoulders and lithe waist all the way down to wide spread legs. He was getting hot, so his hands went to his throat, unzipping the white jumpsuit that was worn by all inmates. His bare arms shaking and flexing, he peeled the overall down to his waist, tying it around his hips. We let the prisoners wear simple cotton singlets beneath their overalls. I’ve never before considered that someone could look good in the uniform. I don’t usually make aesthetic judgements about patients, but with Dean it seemed unavoidable. He looked a little out of place, the rose coloured freckles on his face from years spent on the run and outdoors shone a little lilac in the artificial light. 

“Guess seducing my way outta here is out of the question, eh doc?” Dean stared into the camera, licking his plump bottom lip jokingly. I wonder if he understood how sensuous the mock flirtation looks from my side. It was difficult to remember that to him I am just some disembodied voice and a notorious name. 

“Have you ever had to use it?” 

Dean’s face turned harsh. “Not easy rebelling against Michael. But no, I get out using brains or brawn.” 

“Is it worth it, being a criminal just to stick to your beliefs?” 

Dean snorted. “Yeah, I believe in staying alive, so if Michael wants all betas exterminated, I wanna stick to my beliefs. Sorry if my existence is a taint on his world view. But not sorry.”

“Would you subject your own offspring to your fate?” I asked, though the fire in Dean’s eyes make me reluctant to follow this line of questioning. 

Dean doesn’t answer for a while. Then he barks out a harsh laugh. Full of derision and bringing shame to my cheeks. 

“You know Sammy said that you’re doing all this against your will. That you’ve been brainwashed yourself. He said you’re redeemable because every time it takes you a while but you always rebel against Michael. No matter how many times he gets Naomi to reset you. Me, I’m not so sure, I don’t think you’re any better than the rest of them.” 

“You mean I am no worse. I should take that as a compliment.” That was smooth, my voice did not betray the unexpected sting I was feeling at Dean’s condemnation. 

Dean is silent as I arrange for the orderly to bring him his meal. A porcelain plate, a single field mushroom a juicy fillet of steak, buttery mash and a glass of mineral water. That’s when the miscommunication happens, the employee was new and he reaches for the cell door with his oafish hand and I found myself running down to the cellblock, barrelling the surprised alpha out of the way. 

“You do not enter!” I barked at him. He reeked of alpha scent and if he had stepped inside, Dean would have become completely desensitised. His carefully cultivated palate destroyed by the odious intruder. Even I felt like I needed a wash after bodily contact with the lanky figure. “Go! Go and take a shower or something.” 

I stood at the door to the cell. The blank white metal and hermetic seal staring back at me. I found my hand on the door handle, my fingers latched onto the small steel bar. A small tug was all it would take to see Dean in full technicolour. A traitorous voice inside me said I should do it, I should scent him and find out for myself what heavenly sin smells of. 

“Doc?” I hear the voice and with sudden alarm, stick my hands in my pockets. I can hear Dean’s heartbeat, so attuned was I to what was on the other side of the door. The quick pulse of his blood through his chest chambers, or perhaps I imagined that part of it. This was not going according to plan, it is Dean who should be starved of stimulation, who should crave every sensation, not I. 

“Doctor Novak?” Dean says again, I think he had his face pressed against the door. 

“Castiel?” Dean thumped the door. “Cas!” 

I take a deep breath and then hold it. With one hand I pull open the feeding chute and with the other dump the tray robbed form the orderly inside it. With a sharp shove I shoot the whole thing inside Dean’s cell and turn my back and run. I don’t breathe again until I am safely locked away inside my own office.

I watched as Dean devoured his meal. Then I watched him throw the tray into the door, shattering the plate. I watched him gather the pieces and carefully throw the sharp bits into the rubbish chute. I watched him exercise, push-ups and sit-ups till he was red in the face. I watched him lie down in his bunk, his hand straying towards his groin. 

With a gasp I switch over to a replay of the earlier incident, giving Dean his privacy. In the footage, I see Dean with his ear pressed against the door, his hand on his heart, listening with heartbreaking intentness. Was he listening for my heartbeat too? Why would he do that? 

* * * 

“What do you remember of your family?” I asked Dean, I had opened the blockout screen on an entire wall of his cell. Dean could see through the panel of enforced glass the view of the clearing. The black thorny scrubs and deciduous trees just beginning to thaw in the very early days of spring. There are crows in the distance and the sun shone bright and white. 

Dean tore his eyes away from the mesmerising scene, the first view of nature he had had in two weeks. The first sunlight to bask his skin. He looked magnificent under it. “What do you remember of your family?” He parrots. 

“Tell me about your brother Sam,” I suggest. 

“Tell me what its like being related to Michael,” Dean counters. 

“Michael is complicated,” I reply, giving Dean that much as a show of faith. “He is my brother of sorts. I was adopted by his sire.” 

“Is it true he’s not really an alpha at all?” 

I slam my hand on my desk, nails digging into my palms but I manage to keep my voice steady. “Rebel rumourmongering.” 

“What would Michael do to you if you told the truth?” Dean asked. “If you admitted he’s actually a power hungry omega, a disgrace to his own designation, twisted and hateful of himself.” 

“I would never tell such lies,” I state flatly. “Michael is a true alpha.” 

“Speaking of,” Dean shrugs. “You met any true alphas lately? You know bright blue light up eyes. That kind of thing?” 

“They are very rare.” 

“Yeah and much prized by Michael for breeding.” Dean stares into the camera. “I haven’t met one myself. They say a true alpha can command you to reveal your designation by his presence alone. That they can ‘cure’ betas. Do you think I am in need of such a cure? Would you ‘cure’ me doctor?” 

I have no reply for Dean. I can only look at him sitting there in the light and imagine the colour of his irises. They are light, perhaps blue or grey. I cannot imagine them darkening into opaque orbs the way omega eyes do. Nor can I envision them lit up with golden light as alpha eyes. Dean seemed perfect as he is and the thought terrifies me. 

* * * 

I have made many mistakes. The gravest error was only a month ago. For certain I thought my treachery would have been discovered but to date Michael has not detected of it. 

The young man was named Jack and he was born biologically an alpha. A powerful one, with a hot temper and a sort of natural innocent charisma. His father interned him at the hospital as a voluntary patient. He was wrong, said the father, he thinks he is an omega. It was my task then to convince Jack of his own alpha-ness, guide him to discover himself. 

I failed spectacularly. Jack plainly refused my therapy. He was an omega and that was his truth he told me. A truth he felt was immutable, no matter what colour his eyes turned. 

He reminded me so much of young Michael. The friendly charming older brother, who I caught in his room crying the night he presented, blackened eyes flooding with tears. It was I who started the lie, I am a great deceiver. I convinced Michael that if he felt like an alpha then he should present himself to the world as one. He used suppressants and stimulants, wore contacts and legally obtained alpha designation. I colluded with him, hiding the secret even from our own parents and siblings. I thought I was doing the right thing, I thought I was helping. Till the night Michael was elected to office and then, drunk on champagne and quite certain we were alone, he told me why he wanted to be an alpha. Not for his own sense of identity, but for power. 

I flung him into the walls of the library. I roared in outrage. And he stared at me with such disbelief and the strangest expression. I only understood when I looked into the mirror. My eyes blazed blinding white hot blue. I, the gullible youngest sibling, the adopted cuckoo, was a true alpha. And that look from Michael who I once adored, was hungry and rapacious and full of jealous desire. 

I had what could only be called a breakdown. I was interned in this hospital myself and back then Dr. Naomi Dante was the resident in charge. I do not remember much of those weeks, months, or was it a year? I grew to like the hospital slowly, inexplicably and when I recovered and completed my training, I asked Michael for permission to work here. I have worked here ever since. 

But I was trying to tell you about Jack. Not blurt out all of Michael’s secrets. If these words I write should ever be found, I would be sent to the breeding pens as a certainty. And to me that would be hell. 

In Jack I saw young Michael as I hoped him to be and not as he truly was. I saw hope and mercy and divine intervention to allow me to atone for my sins. I saw a miracle which he performed with little fanfare. 

“I can smell how I want,” Jack said. “I just think about being an omega and after a few minutes I have an omega scent. Isn’t that proof that’s who I really am?” 

He went scentless for a few minutes and then the soft candy smell of nougat filled the room. It was a naive scent, drawing from me a familial sense of protectiveness. 

“Those few minutes when you were without any scent, could you prolong those?” I asked out of curiosity. A sudden scheme presenting itself. 

“Never tried to do that intentionally,” Jack replied and furrowed his brows. Slowly the room cleared of any scent except my own. 

“Incredible,” I said. “I would have mistaken you for a beta.” 

“Great, I can pretend to be someone the entire government is hunting. Useful.” 

“Actually, it is useful.” 

Jack looked at me confused. 

“You can smell like any designation you want. You can walk through a corridor without any trace of a scent. To all the guards who are alphas, if you are not captured in the security footages, you are practically invisible. They would never be able to track you should you escape.” 

Jack looked at me bewildered. “Why would I want to escape?” 

“To be who you are!” I told him, adamant and passionate. “Your father is wrong, there is nothing wrong with you. You are who you are and you are all right.” 

“All right?” Jack whispered, nodding as the notion dawned. “I’m all right.” 

I nod fervently. 

“My mother, she lives in Canada and she never wanted me here, she would shelter me and I could go to her. My father is an influential man and I know he’ll hunt her down for protecting me, but you know what Castiel, that’s all right too because I will be protecting her back.” 

So when the security camera maintenance date rolled around, I conveniently lost Jack’s file in the fireplace in my office. And with one small push of the delete button, his electronic record vanished just as swiftly as he did. 

I hope he is well. I hope he enjoys his freedom. 

* * * 

“I think you’ve got a soft spot for me, doc,” Dean says as he daydreams on his bunk, his hands folded beneath his head, his legs bent. “Not everyone gets to talk to you every single day, I bet. Taking up a lot of your precious time, aren’t I?” 

“You are a difficult case, I’ll admit,” I say sardonically. 

“Doing your head in am I?”” Dean grins, eyelashes fluttering prettily as he looks through the skylight I had opened for him. No glass screens, fresh air and uninterrupted sunlight direct form the heavens. There were fluffy clouds in a vividly blue sky and Dean was watching them fly by. 

“I enjoy the time we spend together,” I say without thinking about it, my face turn crimson as the words fly out, rebel clouds zipping up into the stratosphere. I could not get them back. 

“What’s the opposite of Stockholm syndrome? When the jailor fall for the prisoner?” Dean winks at the camera feed. “Hey this must be right up your alley, far as romances go, no messy bodily functions, no touching, no laying eyes on each other even.” 

“What are you suggesting?” 

“I think you might be asexual,” Dean pondered. “Or maybe demi-sexual. Grey ace?”

“I ... I am not in a rush to find a label,” I say carefully. Trust a rebel to know all the forbidden terms that signify sexual diversity.

“Yeah me neither,” Dean smiled. “But if you wanna know I’d say I’m aro bi. You gonna write that in your notes as some sort of progress? Trading sexual identity info?” 

I look down at my desk and despair. I haven’t written a word into Dean’s file for weeks. I kind of forgot to take notes altogether so pleasant had our time together been. It was like talking to a friend, across a wall of sorts. 

“Last week we drank tea together, and week before that we watched that movie,” Dean said happily. “I’m starting to think you like my company.” 

I think about visiting Dean the moment I wake up in the morning. Some nights I have dreams where we are face to face. In some of those dreams we are kissing, he is a gentle and coaxing kisser. I missed my last rut. I wake in the middle of the night with erections. I have begun to masturbate, what unusually pleasant experiences. So long as I think of Dean, I am fervent with arousal in the vast emptiness of my bed. When I tried pornography, nothing works unless I imagine Dean as the protagonist. I think of him all day long and dream of him all night long. In between rampant sexual desire directed solely at the thought of him and increasing turmoil over our predicament, I realise I am imprisoned and not him. 

In some of the dreams we are holding hands. 

In others sitting in a park, on parallel benches, not even touching, just talking and taking in all that soft lively green space. 

“Could be a bond,” Dean said playfully. “Might even be profound.” 

I can’t even terminate the interview, I merely watch him watch the sky and let the minutes flow past like honey. 

He is too sweet for me. 

* * * 

In hubris I decided not to see him anymore. 

Michael was no longer requiring reports on Dean. Some chaos had unfolded at his compound that he did not want me to know about. I heard through the grapevine that perhaps Sam Winchester was not in Michael’s custody, that he had escaped months ago. I wonder what Michael made of my report that Dean was here in a failed bid to rescue Sam. He must have laughed, knowing Sam was already in the wind. I wonder what games Michael was playing. Or at least I would have thought of it more if I wasn’t caught up in my own chaos. 

Caught up in distracting longing for Dean’s company. I took my leave, there was much of it, and locked myself up in my residential wing. Here I could only see the compound where Dean was held, there are no audio visual links, no contact whatsoever. I never told Dean that I would vanish, I could not endure a goodbye even if we were only a few hundred feet apart. 

To my shock, a week into my self imposed ‘holiday’, Michael came to visit me. 

We dined in my suite and he was in a cheery mood. 

“They abolished the life term limits,” Michael informed me. “My permanent inauguration is being planned as we speak.” 

I had completely missed that news. He is a tyrant then, an indeposable one. 

“Castiel, I was thinking that perhaps it is time to do what you asked,” Michael said, sipping on a glass of blood red wine. “To tell the truth to the world regarding my designation.”

I am shocked out of my idle pining for Dean. I shot up from my chair, clasping Michael into an embrace. A rare display of physical contact for me as I am usually loathe to touch people. Michael smells ever so faintly of cinnamon. He was letting his omega scent emerge, perhaps he was running low on suppressants and stimulants. Though I can’t imagine how, he usually is so careful about that, he practically bathed in the stuff. 

“On one condition,” Michael said with a gracious smile. “Please indulge me. I have a proposition for you Castiel Novak.” 

The formality of using my full name threw me. 

“My father, before his departure, loved you as a son. So he called you my brother but you are really not any relation to me at all.” 

My heart sunk. My mind whirls. He could not .... he’d dare not!

“If you will disown me Michael from the Milton family, then do it, though I have always been loyal to you and compromised my own ethics to do so for innumerable years.” 

I am so angry that I know my eyes must be flashing their rare alpha blue light. Michael stares at my eyes mesmerised and awed. 

“On the contrary, Castiel, I want you as truly a part of the family. This is not banishment, this is a marriage proposal,” Michael beamed even as I blinked at him in utter confusion. Who on earth would he propose to? “See me as a man, as I see you. You are the only man I ever disclosed my true designation to. We were young and I did not wonder why back then, but now I know why I ever felt safe enough to tell you and only you.” 

You felt safe enough because I am a naive fool, I thought bitterly. Because I adored you as kin and you manipulated my familial filialty to harbour your deception. 

“It is because of our bond,” Michael said, grasping my wrists. “We are true mates you and I. I need not be an alpha if I am mated to a true alpha. And you Castiel are a true alpha.” 

I threw my head back and roared. I tore my hands from his. I did not lash out at him with violence but I know I wanted to. 

“Jack Klein.” 

Michael said the name and it lashed me like a whip. 

“I could imprison you for three life times over for aiding and abetting his escape,” Michael said ferociously. “I suspect you of working with the Winchesters, how else did Sam Winchester escape from my compound? Why else have you kept Dean Winchester in your thrall? I hear you visit him daily. Plotting against me with the rebels?” 

“If I don’t wish to marry you it does not mean I am trying to overthrow you!” 

“I would make the mating pleasant for you, Naomi has the equipment and the drugs to do so,” Michael said in a placating tone that made my skin crawl. “I think in a certain light I don’t look very different to your favourite Winchester do I?” 

I am sickened but I am not a fool. I bow my head in a gesture of defeat. “Give me a few days to digest the idea Michael. You know I am yours, have been for years.” 

Michael smiles with relief and joy. It takes every ounce of self control for me not to punch him when he kisses me on the cheek. 

I know Michael would have me under close surveillance so after his departure I stayed in my suite. Though every fibre of my being screamed at me to run to Dean’s cells, I bided my time. 

* * * 

The orderly was surprised to be summoned to my office, he stood in a relaxed manner before my desk and reeked of alpha scent again. 

“Justine Smith, 35, married, resident of Charming Acres,” I read out his file outloud. “For a man who don’t exist, you look well enough.” 

“I always knew you’d be the first one to figure it out,” said Sam Winchester, plopping himself into the therapist’s couch. “Thanks for looking after Dean this whole time.” 

“Why didn’t you leave after your escape?”

“Kind of hard to travel around nowadays, figured why risk the roads when I can stay hidden here,” Sam smiled wolfishly. “Besides, gotta keep an eye on Dean, he’s hot headed.” 

“These roads, are they impossible to access?” I asked quietly. 

“Not impossible, you asking for a friend?” 

“I’m asking for myself and for your brother, if he’ll have me.” 

Sam’s eyebrows arch up so high, I worried he might lose them in all that long floppy hair. 

‘The three of us could make a good go at it, if there are enough distractions.” 

“Michael’s wedding,” I say in a flat dead voice. 

Sam snort. “Yeah that’ll do.” 

I don’t tell Dean about the plan. I still can’t bring myself to see him, not on screen and not in person. I check the staff logs to make sure he is fine but beyond that I can stand no more. 

The hurt of my brother’s betrayal, his political marriage proposal, my own complicity in his rise to power, shamed me beyond measure. I could not face Dean, the foul thing that I am. 

* * * 

Michael was drunk, on power and on whiskey, at our rehearsal dinner. 

“I have a surprise for you in your suite,” Michael’s hand on my wrist make me gag. “Go have fun and don’t say I am not an understanding fiance.” 

I expected some sort of sexual escort but when I opened the bedroom door there was a man tied to the bed. Tied by the wrists and ankles and he smelled like heaven. He made sounds like an angel, such needy moans and soft shuddering breaths. His penis was erect and seeping enough pre-ejaculate that his underwear was near translucent. I was drawn to him like I had never experienced in my life. I was ready to mount him there and then, every instinct in me compelling me to do so, except I realised he smelt not like an omega at all. Or an alpha. I walk up close and peer down at the blindfolded face. I would know that jawline and those lips anywhere. I’ve dreamt of kissing them for long enough. 

It was Dean. 

I rip through his bindings with brute alpha strength but before he could wipe the blindfold from his face, I barrel out the room. 

I cry and relieve myself in my darkened office, the door locked from the inside. 

* * * 

I wake to the sound of an alarm. Confused and weary I turn on the audio visual link. Dean was inside his cell, absolutely trashing the place. The guitar I had gifted him and which he liked to play lovely melodies on was smashed against the bunk. The sketched I had made of birds and cats and landscapes shredded. The breakfast tray scattered on the ground and with one final lunge I watched him take out the security camera with the remnants of the guitar. 

I ran to the cell, forgetting my self imposed exile form Dean’s presence. The scent hits me again. Cotton, sweat, flesh, hair. Such a human scent, without any hint of alpha or omega pheromones, a pure decadent smell of humanity. 

“You dick! You coward!” Dean was screaming at me. “I thought you were dead!” 

“I thought he killed you, I thought he knew we were in love, I thought you were gone!” 

“I was drugged last night but I recognised the sound of your heartbeat. I thought I was dreaming, I thought I was dying and I didn’t want to wake up!” Dean threw his makeshift weapon to the ground. “Were you watching me suffer this whole time? Where the fuck have you been?” 

“On holiday,” I mumble and Dean grabbed me by the neck and threw me against the wall. 

“Getting married,” I continue, Dean is glaring at me and if looks could kill ... 

“Plotting our escape.” I finish just as Dean’s groin pushes hard into mine. I growled and spun him around, my hands at his throat and my teeth at his jugular. “No play along.” 

I bite roughly into his clavicle and Dean moans like a wild thing. “Your brother is here, the wedding is tonight, and that is when this compound will be compromised. You will make your way to freedom.” 

“Cas, Cas!” Dean throws his head back. I am acutely aware that I am digging in the rear in-seam of his overalls. “If you fuck him, I swear I’ll....” 

I clamp my jaw down on the back of Dean’s neck and he shudders into a sudden climax. Just like an omega would but somehow sweeter beause I know it was his mind and not his biology that made him come. 

“You’re mine Cas, my mate,” Dean says nonsensically. “The beta’s true mate.” 

I stare at him, his eyes, they are neither blue or grey. They are green. So full of life and the promise of Spring. 

“Mine, my Cas,” Dean was still saying, pleading. 

I seal my mouth over him, swallowing the stuttered words. Drowning in the beta’s nonexistent scent. In his soap and his shampoo and his coffee. He is warm and he feels like home. 

I am, as Dean says, the beta’s true mate. 

* * * 

Naomi threw the journal down on Michael’s desk. 

“The seduction of Doctor Castiel Novak,” she rolled her eyes. “They are somewhere near New Mexico by now and even your influence won’t get them back.” 

“Catch him and reset him,” Michael commanded. 

“I told you, he is well over threshold, Castiel’s brain cannot take another reset!” 

“Naomi, you have read this journal and now you know things you have no right to know,” Michael drew himself to his full height, his contact lenses working to flash bright blue. “You have three months to catch them or you know where you will end up.” 

When Naomi had left, Michael stared down at the journal left behind by Castiel. Dean Winchester, accursed beta who’ll never know the scent of his true mate, Michael curled his upper lip in distaste. He flung the journal into the fireplace and watched it burn. 

The End.

**Author's Note:**

> Other A/B/O fics: 
> 
> Touch Me (Touch Me) Baby https://archiveofourown.org/works/18300440 A/B/O verse where they can’t scent their mates, they can only tell by touch. Alpha Cas, Omega Dean
> 
> Dean And Cas Bond In Bath And Body Works https://archiveofourown.org/works/17483324 A/B/O verse where alpha Cas is a pilot and omega Dean runs a Bath And Body Works
> 
> The Bodyguard (is the omega) https://archiveofourown.org/works/17404982/chapters/40967429 A/B/O verse where alpha Dean is an award winning singer/actor and omega Cas is his gruff bodyguard
> 
> Written for SPN Coldest Hits April Challenge, the prompt was “Beta’s True Mate - For accursed is the beta who cannot know the scent of his true mate” or something along those lines. 
> 
> PS: I’m so sorry I’m so woefully behind on my WIP updates. This is mostly because I’m busily working on some upcoming projects for Destiel Fanfic Season 15 which I’m super excited about. Hopefully I will be back on schedule soon!


End file.
